


You're the One That I Want (and if that's really so wrong, then they don't know what this feeling is like)

by LadySlytherin



Series: My Heart Belongs to Daddy [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Baby Boy Stiles Stilinski, Bathing/Washing, Butt Plugs, Collars, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Face-Fucking, Father/Son Incest, Gags, Gift Fic, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03B AU, Rough Oral Sex, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Underage Sex, mention of abuse of adderall, these tags make this seem worse than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Post-Nogitsune, Stiles Stilinski is doing...well,not goodwould probably be an understatement. He still can't sleep, he's losing weight, and there's asmallpossibility that he's abusing his Adderall to stay awake and avoid nightmares. He's a mess; falling apart in all of the worst ways.He knows what he needs to feel better; to ward off the demons ripping him apart from the inside. He also knows exactly who to ask to give it to him.orNoah's never been very good at telling his only childno.Especially not when it's something Stiles needs as badly as he seems to need this.





	You're the One That I Want (and if that's really so wrong, then they don't know what this feeling is like)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScarletWolf213](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletWolf213/gifts).
  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Garoto de Brinquedo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22927117) by [Leex2ndre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leex2ndre/pseuds/Leex2ndre)

> This is set almost immediately post-S3B. It completely disregards anything from S4 or later. Nobody leaves/goes missing in the wake of the Nogitsune, so we've still got Derek and Isaac hanging around. Ta-da. ***does jazz hands***
> 
> This is _not_ my first time writing incest, but I've only ever written sibling-incest before (and only twincest at that, and also, only in the HP fandom) so this was a very new dynamic for me to play with.
> 
> Although Stiles is only sixteen for the majority of this (his 17th birthday happens around the time of the final two scenes), he is fully consenting. If his age or the incest-factor bothers you...well, I'm honestly not sure why the hell you clicked on this in the first place. But also, don't read it and then bitch in the comments. This fic is precisely as labeled, thank you very much.
> 
> As ever, comments are love and give me life. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly

Noah Stilinski liked to think of himself as a _good person._ Not a great person, or anything; not anything super special or amazing. Certainly not _perfect,_ because Heaven knew he’d drank too much for a while there, while Stiles was still young enough to have needed him _sober,_ dammit. But - as a general rule and from a purely moral standpoint - _a good person._

Because love of his son was why he’d _stopped_ drinking the way he had right after his wife died. And love of his son was what got him through the _really bad days._ He had lost Claudia, but he still had Stiles...and Stiles was everything to him. Stiles was the best parts of himself, and the best parts of Claudia, all rolled together into an amazing person who was clever, and snarky, and independent. Stiles was fiercely loyal, and loving to the point of self-sacrifice, and brave, and determined, and just...okay, Noah knew his opinion was a _little_ skewed. He was biased; so sue him. But Stiles was honestly the best sort of kid; the best son anyone could ask for. And maybe there had been some issues with behavioral problems at school - what with Stiles’ ADHD, and the panic attacks, and then the newly minted supernatural _bullshit_ Stiles was entangled in - but overall, Stiles was great.

He did his homework, and his chores, and he _mostly_ respected Noah’s rules, even when the good Sheriff wasn’t around to enforce them because of work. Stiles kept the house fairly clean, and he cooked for himself (and for Noah), and did the shopping, and - at least half the time - was the one who made sure all of the bills were paid on time. Noah never had to worry about Stiles throwing a wild party, or having knocked some girl up, or that one of his deputies might haul his kid in for drunk driving. Stiles was far too responsible for nonsense like that.

Which wasn’t to say that Noah foolishly thought Stiles was an angel. The kid had _stolen a police vehicle,_ for the love of everything. And sure, he now understood the extenuating circumstances behind that stunt, but that was _not_ the point. Except, well...it kind of _was._ Because when Stiles broke a rule, there was always _a reason._ And it was usually because he was trying to do the right thing; trying to help someone. Stiles might have a questionable moral compass - a fact Noah had witnessed firsthand on more than one occasion - but he never bent or broke the rules with malicious intent. It was always with _good _in mind.

Noah liked to think Stiles got that trait from him.

Noah wanted to believe that he, too,would never break or bend a rule - a law _or _social mores - without a really _good _reason.

His son’s sanity seemed like _a_ _really good reason._

~*~*~*~

In the wake of the Nogitsune, Stiles was...not doing well.

Which, you know, _understatement._

Because Allison had been killed by Void’s Oni. And Void had used Stiles to gather power; to free himself and wreak havoc on their town. Because Stiles now knew what it felt like to run Scott through with a sword; to twist it; to feel Scott’s blood dripping down his fingers. Because Stiles could barely sleep, and when he was awake he wasn’t always sure he _was_ awake, and he was getting really tired of having to count his fingers _all the time._ Because the whole world felt raw and miserable and like _too much_ and all Stiles wanted, more than practically anything else, was to shut it out. Just for a little while. Just long enough so he could remember how to _breathe._

No one around him seemed to understand, so Stiles did what he did best.

_Research._

And the thing was, a lot of the answers the internet gave were about therapy, and meditation, and focusing and grounding exercises. Things Stiles knew all about already, because he’d fallen apart in a similar way when his mom died. Except he’d been a _kid_ back then, and none of it had been his fault. Which wasn’t to say that any of _this_ had been Stiles’ fault. It just..._felt_ like his fault. And that was practically the same thing, when it came right down to it, at least in the context of Stiles’ guilt levels and how it was affecting his mental and physical health.

None of those things were _helping,_ though. Stiles knew the breathing exercises, but none of them were making it feel like there was actually oxygen in the world again. Stiles knew how to focus and ground himself into the moment using sensory exercises, but he still doubted himself; doubted his own senses and his own ability to determine if he was awake or asleep. Felt trapped inside his own skin, and his own mind, and desperately wished he could escape somehow.

The solution came about in an accidental way, through an internet search regarding something else entirely, and Stiles...well. He was on-board, really. He just...wasn’t sure _how_ to use what he’d found. Not by himself, anyway. It presented a problem, given he was still underage, so getting someone else to help wasn’t exactly going to be easy to do.

Because Stiles had been clicking through porn - he wasn’t doing so hot, but he was still a teenage boy and he had _needs,_ okay - and he’d stumbled across some BDSM porn. Which, you know, _not the first time. _If someone had thought of it, Stiles had _probably_ jacked off to it, at least once. He was curious, okay?

The BDSM thing hadn't been super-appealing to him or anything the handful of times he’d watched it before, but now it was like he was seeing it with new eyes. Stiles’ eyes had tracked over the way the submissive had gone slack against their bindings, submitting completely to their dom. He’d taken in the changes to their breathing; the way every muscle in their body had relaxed despite the pain-pleasure combination; the way their brain had seemed to just _click off_ during the scene. A little research helped Stiles identify what was going on. _Subspace._ It was an altered mental state, similar to a trance, that was often experienced by submissives during play. The more Stiles read about it, the more he _wanted_ it.

The problem, of course, was that he had no idea how to achieve a state like that _on his own._ Everything he read seemed to point to the requirement of a partner; a _dom._ Something Stiles had literally _no_ access to, as a not-quite seventeen year old who also happened to be the son of the sheriff in a small town.

Stiles wasn’t one to give in without a fight, though. Not when the solution to a problem was sitting right in front of him, albeit currently out of his reach. So he turned the puzzle of it over in his mind for a while, hoping he could find a way around the issue.

~*~*~*~

Noah generally didn’t touch Stiles’ computer. Partly because he trusted Stiles, and partly because he had been a teenage boy once. Granted, that had been before the advent of the internet, but he understood the concept well enough to know that Stiles’ porn stash wasn’t likely to be hidden under his mattress or on a shelf in his closet. No, it was going to be on the computer, likely in some innocuously labeled folder that Noah would undoubtedly click on in a bid to find something else entirely, and then he’d never be able to look his son in the eye again. Because obviously Noah knew that Stiles masturbated. He wasn’t stupid or naive, after all. Of course Stiles masturbated. But knowing that and actually seeing what - specifically - got his son off were two very different things. That was a line that Noah had no intention of crossing.

Because, as ashamed as it made him - as much as it had a sick feeling twisting in his stomach any time he thought too much about it - Noah was fully aware that Stiles was _beautiful. _Lithe, and pale, and covered in the same beauty marks that had adorned Claudia’s body. Stiles’ tawny eyes were wide and beguiling. His full lips were enticing in away that Noah _really_ shouldn’t have noticed. And there was a defiance to Stiles - a strength of will and a stubborness - that made Noah _itch_ to force his son to submit.

Most days, Noah told himself it was just that it had been _a long time_ since he’d done a scene. His natural dominant tendencies weren’t being properly satisfied, that was all. They were harmless - if intrusive - thoughts, and nothing Noah would _ever_ act on. Stiles was his son, and he loved him, and he would never hurt Stiles. _Never._

Other days, when the thoughts were a little louder - a little more_ insistent,_ for whatever reason - Noah would get all twisted up inside. Guilt and shame seemed to feed off of each other, devouring him from the inside-out at the same time, and usually that was when Noah would try to drown them out. Sometimes with work - partly because it made him focus on something else and partly because it kept him_ away_ from Stiles - and sometimes with alcohol, because _fuck it._ If he couldn't stop the thoughts, he could at least try to numb himself; to insulate himself from everything they made him feel.

So normally, Noah stayed _far_ from Stiles’ computer. Because his imagination was bad enough as it was, and he didn’t need anything _factual_ to help feed it, thank you very much.

Except that the home computer was acting up, and Noah only had _one_ damned day off this week and he was _not_ going into work on it just to check his email. And it wasn’t like his email couldn't wait a day, because it _definitely could. _It was just that he’d decided he was going to check it and now he _couldn't_ and it was irritating him. So, frustrated, Noah climbed the stairs to Stiles’ room and went in. His son was spending his Saturday doing...well, Noah wasn’t sure what, actually. Something with _the pack,_ as he called his friends, and Noah was trying hard not to think about _that_ too much, either. Because almost losing his son to possession by a fox spirit was something that sent his blood pressure through the roof while also making him feel utterly helpless...and Noah had gotten damned good at ignoring things that stressed him out.

Self-preservation and all of that.

Noah pushed the thought from his mind and woke Stiles’ computer up, clicking on the little web browser icon to pull up a window so he could check his email and move on with his day. Chrome opened and a little bubble-window popped up on the right side of the screen. It proclaimed that the web browser had been improperly closed, and asked if the user wanted to restore the previous browsing session.

Unthinkingly - and before he could realize what a _bad fucking idea_ it was - Noah clicked the little button that said _restore._ Multiple tabs opened simultaneously, stretching ten-deep across the top of the browser. The first one - the one Noah was clicked on - loaded almost immediately.

Noah...Noah couldn't fucking _breathe._

He was staring at...at...

_Fuck._

The page in question was an online store. An online store selling...well, selling a variety of things, most likely, but that wasn’t the point. The point, as it were, was the item that was pulled up. The item showing in a full color photo that took up almost half the damned screen. The item Stiles had apparently been looking at.

_A collar._

Not a dog collar, either. No, this collar was specifically designed for a _human._ Noah could tell right away because...well, because this wasn’t his first rodeo, obviously. But also because of the distinctive shape, as the collar on the screen was a _posture collar._ Something a little more formal - a little more _special_ \- than the average collar a person might wear. And Noah tried to tell himself that there was a reasonable explanation for this. That it was _fully possible_ \- and, honestly, even likely - that Stiles had stumbled across the collar by accident, during some sort of random research spiral. Or, barring that, perhaps Stiles had been looking up collars for humans as some sort of werewolf-related prank. That...seemed plausible, anyway.

And yet, Noah couldn't help picturing the black leather banding his son’s slim throat, forcing Stiles’ head into the appropriate position; forcing _submission._

With a hand he tried to pretend didn’t shake, Noah hastily clicked on the little black _X_ in the corner of the tab in question. He only wished he could close the image in his mind as easily.

Now, Noah would like to believe that if the next tab that loaded had contained a video of giraffes - or Stiles’ facebook page, or some random wikipedia article on who the hell knew what - that he would have been able to push the whole _collar thing_ out of his mind. Unfortunately, nothing so _innocent_ popped up in the tab beneath the first. This one would have been far less surprising, had it not been for the contents of the _first_ tab. Because this one was _porn._

Except it wasn’t _just_ porn. It was two men, one of whom looked _barely_ legal and one of whom was older, though how much was hard to say. The barely legal one was slim, and lanky, and _pretty._ The older one was more muscled; taller; _rougher._ He was also _paddling _the smaller man, who was tied to a spanking bench. Noah’s mouth went dry, and his palms got damp, and his pants got tight. Which, _fine, okay._ Noah was comfortable with his kinks; it’s not like they were anything _new._ He knew what he liked and it wasn’t a crime.

And yet, when the smaller man cried out, _‘Please, Daddy, more!’ _Noah clicked on the _X_ like his life depended on it. Hell, maybe it _did._ Or, if not his life, than at least his _sanity._ Because _that_ was going to wreak havoc on his own personal masturbatory habits for a while. The very idea of Stiles jerking off to some pretty young thing getting paddled by an older man while crying out _daddy_ was enough to send Noah’s thoughts into a dangerous tailspin headed right for forbidden territory.

“Christ, he’s going to be the death of me.” Noah muttered, scrubbing his hands roughly over his face after having closed the random porn tab. He froze as something terrifying occurred to him. There were _more tabs._

Swallowing hard, Noah slowly lowered his hands, though his eyes were still closed. “You can do this.” He told himself out loud, though he still wasn’t looking.

Noah reasoned with himself that there was no audio playing at the moment, so it was unlikely to be another porn video. Then he took a steadying breath and lowered his hands.

He immediately wished he hadn't.

Because _this page_ was something Noah was intimately familiar with. Quite literally, in fact. It was a fetlife profile, though not one Noah had ever seen. And though there wasn’t a whole lot of identifying information - and the only photo he could see was of nothing more than a bare torso - Noah was positive it was _Stiles’_ fetlife profile. Noah knew his son, after all, and he didn’t need to see his face to know the picture was of him. And as bad as it was that he had stumbled across his son’s fetlife page - and as much as he was pissed that Stiles was on such a website when he wasn’t even _seventeen_ yet - that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part, as far as Noah was concerned, was the damned _map._

Because _of-fucking-course_ Stiles had filled out a goddamned _kink map._ It was just the sort of organizational template that would appeal to Stiles, so Noah couldn't even say he was surprised. _Annoyed?_ Yes; absolutely. But _surprised?_ No; not even a little bit. Or, more accurately, Noah wasn’t surprised the the map _existed,_ or that it had been filled out by Stiles. He _was_ surprised by the _contents_ of the map.

In truth, he felt like he’d been sucker punched.

There were a total of five green pins in Stiles’ map. Green pins denoted things that the map-creator had tried...and _liked._ Stiles’ pins were mostly what he’d have expected, had Noah allowed himself to think about something like this. Because Stiles was a teenage boy who went out a couple of times a month with drag queens, and he’d been pretty honest with Noah about liking _people_ as opposed to _boys_ or _girls_ or _whatever._ So _internet porn_ wasn’t a surprise, and neither was _anal _or _improvised toys._ He was a little shocked at _dildos_ hosting a green pin - and part of him wanted to _immediately_ search Stiles’ room - but he resisted the urge. Whether Stiles had managed to acquire a toy on his own, or had enlisted the help of an older friend - either via the pack, or the queens - was a moot point at this juncture...and what the actual toy _looked like_ was something Noah really _did not_ need to know.

And honestly, it wasn’t the green pins that were giving Noah a mild heart attack.

No, that was the _purple_ pins.

Purple pins were used to mark things the map-creator _wanted_ to try. And not things they had thought about, but only in a fantasy-way; fantasy-pins were black. Purple meant _I really want to do this._ Stiles...Stiles had a _lot_ of purple pins.

Some of them were shocking, simply because Noah hadn't realized that someone _so young_ would think about those sorts of things. Things like...like sensation play: ice, silk, _hot wax._ Impact play: paddling, cropping, spanking, flogging, strapping.Benches. _Spreader bars._ Fucking _breath control_ and _resistance play._

Then there were the things that made Noah’s face heat with a blush he would deny was at least two-thirds arousal, because they were in conjunction with _his son. _Pins in places labeled _cumeating_ and _cock worship._ Pins stuck into _hair-pulling_ and _sleep sex_ and _forced orgasms_ and _orgasm denial_ and _dirty talk._ The damned purple pin stuck into the section-header titled, _The Land of D/s, _and all of the ones stuck into a variety of different gags.

But the ones that were making Noah’s heart race in his chest...the ones that had made his mouth fill with saliva at the mere _thought_ of his son placing them...

Those were the _dangerous_ pins. Especially when you put them all together; when you understood the context behind the person who had placed them.

Body-Type Fetishes: _mature._ Bondage: _handcuffs._ Role-Play: _interrogation._ The Land of D/s: _brat play_ and _Daddy/boi._

Worse, still...

Role Enactment: _parent/child._ Dangerous Games: _gun play._

And the very worst - the one that sent a sickening thrill through Noah’s whole system - was the pin stuck in a section all the way at the top of the damned map.

A purple pin, stabbed tauntingly into a single-word heading. _**Incest.**_

Purple. Not black; _purple._ Not something Stiles was interested in from a fantasy perspective. No, this was something his son apparently _actively wanted to try._

Noah’s mind flicked back to the twink getting spanked, cries of _daddy_ spilling past his lips. Cast further back, to the image of that collar; black leather and meant to impose proper posture on a submissive who was still learning, or one who was too stubborn - _or too fidgety - _to hold their pose properly. Noah looked at the seven tabs sitting there, as-yet unopened; waiting to load and show him who the hell knew what else. Noah clicked on an _X,_ but this time it was the white one in the red rectangle, at the upper-right corner of the browser. A window popped up, asking if he was _sure_ he wanted to close multiple tabs at once, and Noah confirmed. _He was sure, alright. _All of the tabs winked out of existence at the same time, between one heartbeat and the next.

Noah wished he could have said it made him feel better. It really, _really_ didn’t.

No longer interested in checking his email, Noah got up from Stiles’ desk and left his son’s room, heading for his own. He needed space; he needed to _think._

Changing course at the last moment, Noah detoured down the stairs. First things first...

_He needed a goddamn drink._

~*~*~*~

Stiles came home from the pack bonding hike in an okay sort of mood. Not a _great_ mood - he didn’t really _have_ great moods anymore - but a better-than-when-he’d-left-mood, anyway. It was something. He toed his shoes off by the door, calling out a greeting to his dad. He frowned when there was no response, because he had _definitely_ seen the cruiser in the driveway. Which meant his dad _should_ be home. He wandered towards the kitchen, stopping with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the bottle of Jack on the sideboard.

_Fuck._

It was never a good sign when his dad was drinking this early, because it wasn’t even dinner time yet. In fact, Stiles had been planning on suggesting they order in - _something healthier than pizza, dammit_ \- because he wasn’t in the mood to cook. Except now he was worried about what sort of mood his dad was in...and what had made him reach for the whiskey in the first place. He knew his dad had the day off, so he doubted it was work-related. It wasn’t a holiday, an anniversary, or a birthday; Stiles had memorized all of those dates _very_ early on.

But it was_ something_, obviously.

Cautiously, he checked the downstairs before he decided his dad must have gone to his room and - as he hadn't answered when Stiles had called out a greeting - passed out. Not ideal, but not the worst-case scenario, anyway.

Shaking his head, Stiles climbed the stairs and went into his room. He froze in the doorway at the sight of his dad sitting in his computer chair, face stern. That...didn’t bode well. Except, as far as he could remember, Stiles hadn't done anything _bad. _You know, _recently._ Truth be told, it had been mostly quiet in the aftermath of _Void._ Stiles swallowed hard against the guilt that always bubbled up when he thought about the Nogitsune, because he had other things to focus on, just at the moment.

He wondered if maybe his dad had noticed he wasn’t sleeping again. Or if he’d found out Stiles was filling his Adderall prescription at three different pharmacies all at once so he could stay awake until he absolutely _couldn't _anymore. Or if maybe his dad had realized Stiles was still losing weight, though not quite as quickly as he had when he’d been possessed. If this was an intervention, though, it was kind of a pathetic one. He would’ve at least expected Scott and Melissa to be involved, if that was the case.

Decided he needed to bluff his way through this - at least until he had a better idea of what, exactly, was going on here - Stiles pasted on a grin and said. “Hey, Daddy-o. How goes it?”

His dad flinched a little, then sat up straighter. Something twisted up oddly in Stiles’ belly and he wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or a bad one but he knew it had to do with the look on his dad’s face. “Stiles. You and I are going to have a little talk. Sit down.”

“Uh, okay?” Stiles shut the door, then crossed the room to perch on the edge of his mattress. “What’s going on?” It was silent for several long minutes, so Stiles prodded again. “Dad? What’s this about?”

His dad’s eyes flicked to the side - _to Stiles’ computer_ \- and all of the color drained out of Stiles’ face. He was shaking in an instant. _‘He found it.’_ Stiles thought to himself, and yeah, okay. He had _maybe_ made it a little easier for that to happen than one might have expected but that was _only_ because he’d been trying to find a specific picture of his mom and he’d been digging in his dad’s closet, looking for the right album, and he had _maybe_ found his dad’s porn stash. Which, okay, was a little hilarious because it was so _old-school_ to have a physical porn stash, and to hide it in a closet. But also, it _wasn’t_ hilarious, because apparently there were some similarities between _his_ porn and the kind of porn _his dad_ liked. And hadn't _that_ been eye-opening?

So if Stiles had _maybe_ done something to slow the household computer down...and if he’d _maybe_ crashed out his chrome browser while some _illuminating_ tabs were open...and if he’d then _conveniently_ left the house on his dad’s day off...

But he’d done the same thing on every day off his dad had had for the last _three weeks._ And it hadn't gotten him anywhere. So he’d sort of figured he was playing a really stupid game of _Mouse Trap_ where the fucking mouse was way smarter than _he_ was. Except..._oh; oh, shit._ His dad had _definitely_ looked at the tabs. Some of them, anyway, though how many - or _which ones_ \- Stiles couldn't be sure.

And yeah, he’d wanted this, but that was because he’d been pinning some stupid, half-thought-out, desperate hopes on this whole plan. And now Stiles was thinking about the strange way his dad was _not _looking at him. And he was thinking about the bottle of whiskey on the sideboard in the dining room. And he was thinking about some of the things he’d left open. And he was _really _regretting his life choices.

So Stiles fell back on bravado and prayed his dad wasn’t _too _pissed. Prayed he wasn’t about to be shipped off to some psych-ward or even just a therapist, to_ fix him_ or some bullshit like that. “Come on, Dad. Talk to me. What’s with the silent staring thing?”

His dad met his eyes at last and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat.

_Fuck._

~*~*~*~

Noah saw the moment Stiles figured out what he wanted to talk about. And he honestly hadn't been sure how this was going to go, until that moment. Because part of him was saying he had to tell Stiles to _stop._ Stop, because he was _positive_ that Stiles had set this whole thing up somehow. His son was a lot of things - _exhausted_ and _gaunt_ among them - but he wasn’t _careless._ Not about something like this, anyway. So if Noah had found something on Stiles’ computer, odds were Stiles had _wanted it found._ And that led Noah’s mind even further down the path to places it was _not_ supposed to go.

So he really ought to have been telling his son to _stop, dammit._ He didn’t think he could take it if Stiles continued baiting him, after all. Or, heaven forbid, if he took that baiting even further. Noah was only human. He only had so much control.

Except that Stiles looked terrified. Looked like he thought maybe Noah was going to rip the whole damned world out from under his feet. Looked like he was bracing himself for rejection, and heartbreak, and maybe a good-old-fashioned verbal smackdown.

And that look, on Stiles’ face, was _devastating._

Noah took in the rest of Stiles’ appearance. His filthy clothing, and his sweat-and-dirt-streaked skin. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he looked about fifteen pounds lighter than he had the last time Noah had thought to _really_ look at him...and dammit, but Stiles had already been a little underweight after the whole _possessed _thing, so this extra weight that was missing wasn’t good. Noah thought again about what Stiles was - in his own, roundabout way - asking for. Thought about what having it might do for Stiles, mentally speaking.

Noah considered himself a good person. He knew that, from a strictly moral standpoint, what he was considering was _wrong._ For a few reasons, in fact. But if it could help Stiles...if he could anchor his son against the things that were destroying him from the inside out...

Wouldn’t that be worth any sin he might commit in the process?

Stiles was saying something - trying to bluff his way through the situation, which was unsurprising - and, at last, Noah looked up. Met his son’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, his face showed...but Stiles sucked in a sharp breath and his pupils blew wide and his whole body went still.

Noah couldn't have hoped for a better reaction, honestly. And still, he knew it wasn’t enough. He needed more of a commitment than that, if he was going to do this. Needed something a hell of a lot more like outright consent, if this was going to go any further.

So Noah made his face stern as he chided. “You’re really just going to sit on the bed in those clothes, Stiles? Now the sheets need to be washed, too.”

Stiles startled a little, then looked down at himself, fidgeting a bit. After a moment he stood up, cheeks a little pink as he stammered. “Ah, s-sorry, Dad. I just...I was going to shower, but...you said you wanted to talk, and I...”

He trailed off and Noah crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. “You just thought you’d sit on the bed while covered in dirt.” His voice was flat; his tone wasn’t _angry,_ exactly, but it was definitely_ not pleased._

Stiles’ cheeks flushed darker, and he took a half-step closer to Noah, mumbling. “You said _sit down.”_

“I never said _on the bed.”_ Noah retorted, and the bite to his words had a visible effect on Stiles. He watched a shiver chase itself across Stiles’ whole body, so he pushed a little further. “Christ, what do I have to do to drive a point home, Stiles? Do I need to put you over my damned knee?”

“I-” Stiles’ voice was choked; he looked like he wanted to get closer to Noah - swayed a little, in fact - but also like he wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining everything he was hearing. Like maybe he couldn't be positive if Noah was saying what he _thought_ he was saying, or if he was taking innocent things the wrong way. “D-dad...”

Noah stood abruptly and Stiles took a startled step back before freezing. Noah stalked closer, until he was very nearly touching his son. “What, Stiles? You have a better suggestion for how I can _finally_ make you behave? For how I can _finally_ make you obedient?” He watched the way Stiles swallowed hard and added. “Your sneaky behavior has to _stop._ I won’t tolerate it.”

“S-sneaky?” Stiles squeaked, backing up again; a single quick step, then another, then a third. Putting a little space between them. “I don’t...Dad, I haven’t been doing anything! I swear, I haven’t.”

“No?” Noah closed the distance between them again. When Stiles tried to keep a little space, he backed his son right into the wall next to his bedroom door. Looming over him, he asked dryly. “So you _didn’t_ mess with my computer so I’d have to use yours?”

Stiles’ mouth moved silently, his eyes darting around the room as though seeking help, or an escape route, or an excuse; Noah honestly wasn’t sure which. “W-well, I mean, that...it’s not that I...see, it...the answer to that is _complicated, _so I wou-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Noah snapped, and there was a hint of real anger in his voice now. Because _no._ Because this wouldn’t work - _not at all_ \- unless Stiles was honest with him. “I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, Stiles. It didn’t take me long to figure out the whole thing was a setup and I don’t like the assumption that I’d believe whatever bullshit you were about to try to feed me. So do me a favor and just own up to your shit.”

Stiles bit his lip for a second, then peeked up from under his lashes. There was hesitancy there; an uncertainty that Noah _knew_ was stilling his son’s tongue. So, he pushed - just a little - in a way he hoped might reassure Stiles while still letting the teen make the first _real _move. And god, but he _needed_ Stiles to make the first move, because it was the only way he’d be able to live with himself; with _this._

“Tell me what you did, Stiles.” Noah ordered, voice stern but no longer sharp with anger. He paused, then added lowly. “Bad boys who are honest get punished...but bad boys who _lie_ get nothing.”

Stiles jolted - his whole body just _jerked,_ like he’d been electrocuted - and he made a small, desperate sort of sound in the back of his throat. Noah waited, and Stiles leaned back against the wall, staring up at Noah with those wide, golden eyes of his; _fawn eyes,_ as Claudia had always called them. Then Stiles’ tongue came out, slicking over his full lower lip, and those long lashes came down to shield his eyes. When he peeked up at Noah from under them, there was something hopeful in his gaze, and something playful, and something _wicked._ It was a combination that made Noah _want,_ fiercely.

Stiles’ tone was all sass and brattiness when he finally answered, a small pout making his full lips look extra tempting. “I was only trying to get your attention.” His lower lip came out a little further and a slight whine entered his voice as he added. “You don’t ever _pay attention. _So I just...I had to do something drastic. I didn’t know how else to make you see. To make you _understand.”_

“Understand what, Stiles?” Noah demanded. “What the hell is this supposed to make me understand?”

Stiles’ teeth sunk into that plush lower lip for a moment, then he whispered. “What I want. What I _need._ From you, and...and w-_with_ you.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Stiles’ eyes met his and there was the faintest sheen of moisture there as he pleaded softly. _“Please, _Daddy...”

Noah had a hand at Stiles’ throat in an instant, forcing Stiles to stretch up onto his toes as he leaned in close, pinning Stiles snugly to the wall he’d been leaning against so casually a moment earlier.

“What you _need...”_ Noah hissed in his son’s ear even as he nudged one knee in between Stiles’ legs, pressing forward until he could feel Stiles’ arousal against his thigh. Through clothing,_ but still._

He felt it as Stiles shuddered against him, hips hitching forward against Noah’s thigh. Felt it, too, as Stiles swallowed hard; his throat shifted delightfully under Noah’s palm. He tightened his grip - just a _tiny_ bit - and growled in Stiles’ ear, then finished what he’d been saying.

“What you _need_ is to be taught a lesson. Several, in fact.” Noah’s voice was low, and husky, and authoritative. It wasn’t a tone he’d had a lot of call to use lately - not for _years,_ honestly - but it came back to him quickly. It was _all _coming back fairly quickly, really. “What you _need_ is to learn to _obey._ To _submit._ Can you do that, Stiles?”

He drew back, meeting Stiles gaze even as his son nodded. And then, because what _he_ needed was consent, in its purest form, Noah asked softly. “Color?”

For a moment, he wondered if Stiles would understand the question. But then, Stiles was known for researching things that interested him and, clearly, this had been no exception. Because Stiles moaned, head tipping back and eyes falling closed, before answering in a breathless rush. “Green. Oh my god, _green. _So fucking green, I don’t...I am the _greenest, _I swea-”

Noah cut off the flow of words by applying just a _touch _more pressure where his thumb was against the artery in Stiles’ throat; by restricting the blood flow - and thus _the oxygen flow_ \- just the _tiniest bit._ Not enough pressure to hurt Stiles - not enough to bruise his throat, or have him passing out - but just enough to make him a _little_ lightheaded. Enough to make him feel a _little_ helpless.

“Quiet.” He murmured, leaning in to drag his teeth along the line of Stiles’ jaw. His son gasped - as much as he could, given the hand at his throat - and his hips jerked forward again, so hard he was practically grinding his erection into Noah’s thigh.

Noah let it happen, saying softly. “Daddy needs to think of the best way to punish you, for being sneaky when you should have just talked to me.” He drew back and met Stiles’ eyes, added firmly. “From now on, you’ll be honest with me. You’ll be honest, or this stops. Do you understand?”

Stiles nodded frantically, and Noah said. “You’re still very dirty, baby boy. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, then we can talk about your punishment.”

He released Stiles’ throat, stepping back until there was no contact between them. Stiles slumped heavily against the wall, panting and trembling and watching him with wide, wide eyes. “Do you want me to take a shower?” Stiles asked, voice breathy and needy and _deliciously seductive._

The way his cock was tenting the front of his shorts was pretty damned enticing, too. Noah licked his lips, then dragged his gaze away - back to Stiles’ face - because now wasn’t the time to lose focus. “No.” He said, answering Stiles’ question after a long moment of silence. “See, I don’t trust you not to touch yourself if I let you shower on your own.”

Stiles’ cheeks burned with a blush, the red color spreading down his throat as well, and Noah smirked, adding. “You don’t get to do _that_ anymore, baby boy. So I’ll be confiscating any toys you have, too.” He waited until Stiles’ lips parted, ready to protest, to add in a low growl. “You belong to me now, Stiles. Your cock, your mouth, your ass...your _orgasms._ They all belong _to me._ You come when I say you can, or not at all. Do you understand?”

Stiles whimpered, but nodded. “Yes, Daddy.” The words were breathless, and meek, and perfect_._ Christ, but everything about Stiles was _so. Fucking. Perfect._ “B-but if you want me clean...”

He trailed off and Noah grinned in a way that was predatory. “I’m going to give you a bath, baby boy.” He watched Stiles’ hips twitch forward at the words and smirked, because he’d paid attention to that kink-map of Stiles’, goddammit. Stiles had given him knowledge and Noah fully planned on using it to his advantage. “Go run the water and strip. I’ll be along in a minute.”

He waited until Stiles had opened the door and was halfway through it to add. “Oh, and Stiles? Don’t you _dare_ touch yourself.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Stiles promised, shooting him a soft look over his shoulder as he added. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Noah’s face and voice softened at the same time. “You’re welcome. Go on, then.”

Stiles disappeared into the hallway and Noah took a moment to scrub his hands roughly over his face, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do. In the end, he knew there wasn’t really any way to prepare; not for _this._ Best to just do it, then. Squaring his shoulders, Noah walked out of Stiles’ room and up the hallway to the bathroom. Stiles needed him, and Noah had no intention of letting his son down.

~*~*~*~

Stiles was standing next to the tub when his dad came in. The water was still running - and he’d put bubbles in, because _fuck it, why not? - _so there was a soft, vanilla fragrance in the air and Stiles...

Stiles was blushing. He could _feel_ that he was blushing. And it was a little bit embarrassment because he was almost seventeen and his _dad_ was about to give him a bath and there were _bubbles,_ okay, and the whole thing was crazy and Stiles was _naked_ and he didn’t think his dad had seen him naked since he was, like, _ten._ But also, at least part of that flush was from arousal, because this...this was _not_ a normal bath. This was not Noah helping him because he’s a child, or because he’s sick or injured. This was Noah helping him for the _express purpose_ of getting to put his hands on Stiles’ skin. And it was wicked, and immoral, and _so fucking wrong,_ and Stiles had never wanted anything so much in his life. 

Stiles couldn’t decide whether he should turn and face his dad - making his arousal _screamingly_ obvious - or if he should keep his back to the older man. He wondered what his ass looked like. Stiles couldn’t quite believe he’d never really thought to study his own ass before, with a critical eye...but he was pretty sure lacrosse (and literally running with werewolves...and _from_ werewolves, among other things) had kept it pretty well toned. So he just...sort of _stood there._ Staring at the rising water level and the increasing amount of bubbles. Wondering when his dad was going to say something, or do something. Feeling like he was going to _shatter_ if something didn’t happen soon.

“Get in the tub, Stiles. And shut the water off.”

Stiles hastily obeyed, scrambling gracelessly into the water and twisting the taps until the flow of water stopped. He sat there, water up around his waist and bubbles protecting his modesty - _for now_ \- and couldn't quite make himself look at his dad. Partly because he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the thing he’d been fantasizing about for _ages_ was finally happening...and partly because he was terrified that this was all a dream and if he looked over, his dad was going to vanish. Or he’d wake up, alone in his bed. And either way, he’d be _crushed,_ because he _wanted this,_ for so many reasons. And it was not something he ever _really_ thought he would have so the idea of it being taken away made it feel a little hard to breathe.

A hand brushed his cheek and Stiles flinched at the unexpected contact, eyes locked on the water and the bubbles and his own fingers making odd little patterns in the white froth.

“Color?”

The question was whisper-soft and _that_ brought Stiles’ head up. He met his dad’s eyes - amber to blue - and poured every bit of sincerity he could into his reply. “Green.”

His dad nodded and a small smile curved his mouth upwards. Stiles watched as he rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, until they were above his elbows, and it wasn’t like he’d never seen his dad’s arms before but it seemed oddly intimate, somehow. Which was stupid, because they were fucking _forearms._ But there was a promise inherent in the whole thing; a silent acknowledgement of what was about to happen. It made Stiles feel on-edge, but in the best way. Hyper-focused on all of the possibilities; on what was going to come next.

Stiles got a little lost in that train of thought for a few moments; long enough that he was jarred back to reality by the touch of his shower-puff - all foamy with lather - being dragged over his shoulder. He blinked and tracked the progress of the light blue netting spreading soft, soapy, white foam down his right arm. He wondered at the surreality of it all. The air felt thick and syrupy around him, and his mind felt hazy. Stiles honestly felt a little drunk, though he hadn't had a single drop of alcohol. He swallowed hard as the shower puff continued to track its way across his skin, in slow but firm sweeps of motion.

Both of his arms were washed, then the puff was dragged up and down his back and shoulders in long, broad strokes that left him shivering. When it was swept over his chest, Stiles’ blush spread down his throat and over that pale, freshly washed skin as though the color were chasing the new touch. He had to bite his lip to keep silent, though embarrassing little sounds were still slipping out and he knew it. It was just something he was trying his best to ignore.

The shower puff being set aside almost went unnoticed, because Stiles’ eyes had closed, but a soft _click_ made him open them again. His dad was lathering his hands now and his voice was low and gentle but somehow firm when he said. “Get your hair wet, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded and laid back in the water, bending his knees and letting himself slip beneath the water just long enough to get his hair wet. He sat back up, panting a little, and watched as his dad slowly reached for him. His eyes closed again as those strong, sure fingers slid into his wet hair. They pressed and stroked as they coated the wet strands with shampoo and Stiles couldn't have stopped the whine that slipped past his lips if his life depended on it, but his dad didn’t seem to mind.

In truth, the Sheriff chuckled quietly, then murmured. “Easy, Stiles. Daddy’s got you.”

Something about the words - the way they were said, maybe, or the undeniable love that was underlying them - had all of the tension bleeding out of Stiles’ muscles. He melted, just a little, and soaked up the attention. The _touch._ The way he was being taken care of, just then; _being_ _cared for._

It was something Stiles hadn't truly realized he needed until he was getting it. He had been taking care of himself for so long that this...this was foreign and new and impossibly lovely. Part of Stiles didn’t want this bath to end; not ever. Part of him couldn't wait for what was (hopefully) coming next.

All of Stiles was eager for _more._

~*~*~*~

Noah carefully rinsed the soap out of Stiles’ hair, using a small cup and warm water from the sink. Soapy, bubbly water from the bath wasn’t going to help get the lather out, after all. He guided Stiles’ head back before slowly pouring the water over his son’s hair, taking care not to let the soap run into Stiles’ eyes. He didn’t want it to sting, after all. And Stiles was perfectly cooperative. He moved just where Noah wanted him to, with only the smallest touches; the barest hint of pressure and guidance. It was a bit maddening, after how long he’d denied himself the pleasure of this, to realize just how _perfect_ Stiles was.

Noah set the cup aside, then took a moment to run his fingers back through Stiles’ wet hair. He liked that Stiles had grown it out; liked that it was soft to the touch and just long enough that, if he wanted to, he could _pull._ For the moment, Noah simply petted his son soothingly, trying to decide what he wanted to do next. Because as much as Stiles had set this all up - and as much as Stiles could end this at any time, with a simple refusal - just then, Noah had all the power. He was the one making the decisions; the one who decided _what_ and _when_ and _how._ It was power, but it was also _responsibility,_ and it was one Noah took very seriously.

Slowly - gently - Noah trailed his fingertips over Stiles’ flushed cheeks, then down the long, slim line of his neck. Stiles obligingly tipped his head back as Noah’s touch ghosted over the front of his throat, and the barest hint of pressure as he reached the top of Stiles’ chest had his son leaning back. Stiles shifted until he was reclining against the back of the tub, knees bent and sticking up just a bit above the bubbles while warm water lapped at his ribcage. His eyes were open just the smallest bit, revealing a tawny gleam beneath long, dark lashes.

For his part, Noah shifted so he was sitting on the edge of the tub, rather than kneeling on the floor. It was better for his knees...and his back.

Then Noah debated for a moment, eyeing the shower puff he’d been using earlier before deciding instead to grab the washcloth he, himself, preferred when washing up. He squeezed a little of Stiles’ body wash onto it, rubbing the cloth against itself for a moment to create just a little bit of lather. Then he reached into the water and grasped one of Stiles’ ankles, tugging gently to bring his son’s foot - and leg - up out of the water. Stiles gasped but didn’t resist, resting his foot lightly on his dad’s thigh when Noah moved it into place.

Ignoring the moisture soaking into his slacks, Noah gently bathed dirt and sweat from Stiles’ skin. He stroked the washcloth over Stiles’ calf, then up past his knee. As he leaned forward enough to drag it over the creamy flesh of Stiles’ thigh, his son made a soft whimpering sound. Noah glanced up, taking in the way Stiles’ hands were gripping the edge of the bathtub; white-knuckling the porcelain as though it were the only thing keeping him steady. A thrill chased itself up Noah’s spine and he carefully lowered Stiles’ foot back into the water.

Locking eyes with his son, he murmured. “Other foot now, baby boy.”

Stiles swallowed hard, but obediently lifted his other leg until it was perched against Noah’s thigh. He carefully gave it the same treatment, savoring the way Stiles’ breathing went ragged and the delightful little whimpers he let out, sounding more and more desperate the higher Noah washed on his thigh. It shouldn’t have delighted him so much, Noah knew, to make his son sound so needy...but he’d accepted this particular defect in himself a long time ago. Longer ago than he’d be willing to admit, considering how young Stiles _still _was.

But that was beside the point. The point, as it were, lay in the way Stiles’ eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as Noah lowered his other leg back into the water. After only a heartbeat’s time, Noah made his decision, though he was sure he’d be damned for it.

The first thing Noah did was reach out and flip the little toggle on the drain, so the water would slowly start to go down. Then, he slipped back down to the floor and poured some of Stiles’ body wash directly onto his palms, rubbing them together. Stiles’ eyes widened as Noah reached for him again. He slid his now-slick hands over Stiles’ chest. As he washed, he brushed over Stiles’ nipples and elicited a soft whine from the teen, but enticing his son was a mere side-effect. This was about more than that; it was about caring for Stiles in a way that he knew he’d fallen short on lately. Since Claudia’s death, really. So Noah didn’t linger, instead sliding his hands lower and spreading apple-scented lather over Stiles’ flat, quivering belly.

“You need to eat more regularly.” He chided softly, even as he stroked over the faintest ridges of muscles, then down the thin line of hair low on Stiles’ belly. “I don’t want you losing any more weight. You’re already too thin.”

“O-oh-kay.” Stiles stammered out, water sloshing around as Stiles’ feet slipped against the bottom of the tub while he tried desperately to keep his hips still.

His head was tossed back, resting against the edge of the tub, and Noah was greedily watching the water line that was getting steadily lower; revealing more and more of Stiles. He let his hands slip down below the water, cradling Stiles’ hips, his thumbs stroking over the sharp jut of the teen’s hip bones. Stiles made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a mewl and Noah closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself to _breathe,_ dammit. He took a couple of carefully measured breaths, then opened his eyes again and slowly shifted his hands.

One he drew out of the water, curling it loosely around the edge of the tub. The other, he slid along the crease where Stiles’ thigh met his groin. Stiles was panting now, hips giving restless little twitches. The water had kept draining while Noah’s eyes were closed and was now only a few inches deep. Enough left to make soft sounds as Stiles writhed and twitched but not enough to afford him any protection; any _modesty. _Now the only thing adorning Stiles’ skin was the remnants of the bubbles still clinging to him in places, and the delicious flush creeping down his son’s chest, and the delightful scattering of moles. Stiles looked soft, and young, and vulnerable.

It made Noah want to coddle and protect him, but it made him itch to do _other things_ as well. Part of him longed to wreck that innocence; to leave Stiles utterly _ruined._ Thankfully, years of experience had taught Noah how to balance the conflicting sets of urges.

He curled strong, calloused fingers loosely around the stiff length of Stiles’ cock, stroking in a way that would provide almost no friction. It was a touch that was meant to be maddening, rather than one designed to offer relief. The traces of body wash still on his hand and the slippery remnants of foaming bubble bath on Stiles’ skin eased the way; made it so his hand slid readily up and down his son’s heated arousal. He watched avariciously as Stiles squirmed against cool, slick porcelain, the last of the water draining away at last.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to start mewling, hands and feet scrabbling madly at the sides and bottom of the tub; seeking purchase where there was none to be found. As Stiles’ hips hitched up, desperately chasing friction the older man was carefully refusing to provide, Noah had to resist the urge to take things further. This was not the place for that. He _would not_ have the first orgasm he shared with Stiles be in their bathroom.

Having decided that, Noah finally withdrew his hand. Stiles’ keening protest at the loss of his father’s touch had him carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair and telling him soothingly. “Not yet, baby boy. I need you to be patient for a little bit longer.” When Stiles pouted, looking frustrated and needy, Noah’s lips twitched up into a small smile before he murmured. “Stand up so I can rinse you off.”

Stiles got to his feet quickly, his body a mess of flailing limbs and adolescent gracelessness that was somehow deeply endearing. Noah had to lean back to avoid getting an elbow to the face, but that was as much a part of Stiles’ charm as his cleverness and his snark. Noah got to his feet as well, fussing with the taps until warm water was coming out of the shower head, rather than the faucet meant to fill the tub. It didn’t take long for Stiles’ skin to be free of soap and all of his son’s former embarrassment and modesty seemed to have slipped down the drain as well.

When Noah twisted the water back off, Stiles stood before him, pink-skinned and aroused and utterly unabashed in his nudity. He was staring at Noah with wide, golden eyes, the pupils blown with lust and his slender chest heaving with every panting breath he took. There was need written across his form; visible not merely in the swollen, leaking length of his cock but also in the way he held his body and the twist of his full mouth and the heated look in his eyes.

Noah coaxed his son out of the bathtub and Stiles stood on the bathmat, shivering just a little in the cool air of the bathroom. Noah tugged a towel off the towel rack and immediately began drying Stiles’ flushed skin. The act was tantalizing, in its own way, and _deeply_ intimate, and Stiles held still like this was as natural to him as breathing. Noah ruffled the towel over Stiles’ hair, leaving it vaguely damp and delightfully tousled. He moved slowly, and deliberately, and with great care as he used the towel to capture every drop of moisture clinging to Stiles’ skin.

When he was finally satisfied, Noah caught Stiles’ chin in his hand and forced his son to meet his eyes, asking lowly. “Color?” Because he had crossed lines already - had put his hands places they had no business going on his sixteen year old son - but what he was planning to do next went _far_ beyond that and he had to make sure that Stiles was on board.

Stiles swallowed hard, but met his gaze levelly. His voice was husky, but the words came out steady and without hesitation. “Green. Still green.”

Noah nodded, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Go to my room. Get yourself settled on my bed. I’ll join you in a minute.”

He watched Stiles walk away - enjoyed the slight bounce to Stiles’ pert little ass as he moved - then leaned back against the sink and took a moment to compose himself. He was achingly hard, though his arousal had been a background thing and he’d only really become aware of it as he was drying Stiles off. Because _during_ the bath, he had been focused more on _care_ than anything else. And yes, a small part of that had been teasing Stiles because he wanted his son eager for _more,_ but mostly it had been about intimacy rather than lust. Now...now the lust was all that was left.

Noah took a slow, measured breath, letting it out on the barely spoken words. “Please forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Noah wasn’t even sure who he was imploring - himself, or a higher power, or perhaps Claudia - but, in the end, it didn’t really matter.

Decision made - and long past the point of no return - Noah left the bathroom and headed towards his bedroom where Stiles was waiting.

~*~*~*~

Noah entered the bedroom to find Stiles standing next to the bed, tracing the rim of a rocks glass with the tip of one finger. The glass, for its part, was sitting on the nightstand, precisely where Noah had left it when he’d finished his drink earlier.

He met Stiles’ gaze level and offered the information he knew Stiles wanted. “I had a drink, right after I saw that damned kink map of yours. And we’re going to talk about _that_ later, by the way. I needed something to steady my nerves while I considered everything I’d learned.”

“Okay.” Stiles took his hand off the glass, sinking down to sit on the edge of Noah’s bed and giving his dad a searching look. “Just the one?”

“Just the one.” Noah assured him, because he knew that Stiles was thinking about drunken mistakes and morning-after regrets and he wanted to make sure that Stiles understood that this - what was building between them tonight - was _not_ the product of alcohol and poor judgement. “And it was hours ago. I’m making this choice sober, Stiles. I’d never make it any other way, for both our sakes.”

Stiles ducked his head, cheeks pinkening as he admitted softly. “I just...needed to be sure.” He peeked at Noah from under his lashes and asked. “D-did you decide my punishment?”

Noah nodded. “Yes. You’re grounded for two weeks.”

Stiles blinked, mouth falling open in shock. “B-but...I thought you...I..._what?”_

“I’m going to explain something to you.” Noah told his son as he slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, enjoying the way Stiles’ eyes were instantly riveted on his hands. “Punishments need to be something _bad_ or you won’t learn your lesson. I’ll never spank you as a true punishment. And I’ll never hit you with anger behind it. Do you understand?”

“I...ye-eh-es?” Stiles kind of dragged out the agreement, as though he were a little unsure of himself. “I just read...I mean, I _thought_ that...you know, _spanking_ and _punishment_ just seems...”

He trailed off and Noah’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Spanking can be used to punish certain things that don’t require lesson-enforcement. Like disobeying an order I never really expected you to be able to follow. Being bratty. Talking back. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

This time, Stiles nodded immediately. “Yeah. That makes sense, actually.”

Noah dropped his shirt to the floor, then undid his belt, though he left it resting in the loops and didn’t undo his fly. _Not yet._ He moved closer to the bed - _to Stiles_ \- and held out one hand. When Stiles took it, he tugged his son to his feet. It amazed him how eagerly Stiles’ obeyed even silent commands. How it was stunningly obvious just how much Stiles wanted this. How much his son wanted _him._ As Noah watched, Stiles’ tongue darted out, slicking over his full lower lip.

And, unable to resist any longer, Noah finally gave in to an urge he’d had for...well, for a while.

He curled one hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and tugged, putting Stiles right where he wanted him even as he leaned in. His caught Stiles’ mouth with his own and, as much as he wanted to devour - _to claim_ \- he kept it soft, at first. Light. Sweet. _Easy._ He brushed their lips together, over and over, in a teasing sort of touch that spoke of love and caring. Stiles melted against him, his arms looping loosely around Noah’s neck as he parted his lips on a soft sigh.

Noah swallowed the sound, sharing breath with Stiles for a moment before finally licking his way into Stiles’ mouth. And Stiles welcomed that as well; stayed pliant against him as Noah’s tongue learned the line of his teeth and the taste of his palate. Noah’s hand slid from Stiles’ neck up into his still-damp hair, fisting lightly so he could move Stiles’ head exactly where he wanted it as he changed the angle of his kiss; deepening it. Stiles made a small sound of pleasure and Noah rewarded him for the noise by stroking his other hand down Stiles’ side until he was cradling his son’s hip.

Stiles’ hips rocked forward - a little needy; a little desperate - and he broke the kiss, panting around the words as he asked. “C-can we...p-please, I _need...”_ He groaned when Noah yanked on his hip, grinding them together _just a bit,_ and finished brokenly. _“Please,_ Daddy...”

And _that_ was all Noah needed, to push Stiles back onto his bed. He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Stiles sprawled backwards across _his_ sheets. He paused for a moment, rather than following Stiles down, because there was something they needed to discuss first.

Stepping closer to the bed, he met his son’s eyes and said. “I have some orders for you to follow, Stiles. Do you think you can do that for me? Follow just a few, simple rules?”

“I...I’ll try.” Stiles promised, not even asking what the rules were before giving his word. And that was exactly what Noah wanted; to know that Stiles would _always_ do his best to obey, no matter what orders Noah gave.

“Good boy.” He praised, watching as a shiver chased itself over Stiles’ skin at the words. But then, Stiles had always responded well to praise, even as a small child. “When you’re with me like this, I want you to call me _Daddy _and nothing else. You’re not allowed to touch yourself unless I say so, and you can’t come until I give you permission.” Noah paused here as he slowly undid his fly, then added in a low, husky voice. “But if my cock is inside you, that’s automatically permission. You are _always_ allowed to come on Daddy’s cock, Stiles.”

Stiles moaned, hips twitching up against the air, his pretty pink cock leaking wetly all over the pale expanse of his belly. “Y-yes, Daddy.” He agreed, voice breathy and sweet. “Want that...want to come on your cock _so bad, _Daddy, _please...”_

“Soon, baby boy.” Noah promised. “One more rule, okay?” Stiles nodded eagerly, eyes bright as he stared up at his father and Noah continued. “When we’re together, you hold nothing back. You don’t fight your body or its reactions. Every response, every sound...those are _mine,_ Stiles. And if you try to keep them from me, I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

That was more than enough for Noah.

“Turn around so your head is hanging over the edge of the mattress.”

As he gave the order, Noah shoved down both his pants and his briefs, hissing a little as his erection was finally released from its confines. Stiles had obediently moved into position and when he saw his father’s cock - long and thick and glistening wetly just at the tip - he moaned and opened his mouth as wide as it would go, tongue sticking out _just a little _past his bottom teeth. It was deeply provocative - as well as inherently submissive - and it made him _ache_. Noah _loved_ that Stiles knew what he wanted; why he’d ordered him into this position. He stepped up to the edge of the bed, stopping when he could feel Stiles’ hair brushing his thighs.

He reached down, one hand curling around the base of his erection while the other stroked lightly over Stiles’ cheek; a silent reassurance he wasn’t even sure Stiles needed, but which he wanted to provide anyway. A moment later, he was brushing the head of his cock against Stiles’ lower lip, smearing the sticky-wet bead of moisture clinging to his slit over that plush pink curve. When Noah retreated again, just the littlest bit, Stiles immediately chased the previous movement with his tongue, moaning needily as he swallowed down the barest taste of Noah. Noah groaned, then pushed forward again.

This time, he pressed the head of his cock into Stiles’ open mouth, unable to resist any longer. Stiles made an eager sound at the back of his throat, those sinfully full lips closing around Noah’s cock immediately. He swore softly as Stiles hollowed his cheeks, sucking even as his tongue shifted over the head, teasing Noah mercilessly. Noah swore again, louder this time, when Stiles shifted enough to pull _more_ of Noah into his mouth, as though he were too desperate to wait.

And as hot as that was, Noah knew he had to admonish his son for it. “Greedy boy.” He chided, his hands carefully pushing Stiles back into the correct position even as he silently mourned the loss of that hot, wet mouth. “You’ll take what I give you or you’ll get _nothing.”_

Stiles whined, but nodded. “S-sorry, Daddy.” He stammered out, face flushed and panting heavily. He licked his lips, then added. “I couldn't help myself. Want to taste _all_ of you...”

“You will.” Noah promised, voice a little rougher as his arousal climbed. “When _I_ decide.”

Stiles nodded again and Noah pressed his cock back between those full lips, slow and careful. Not because he really wanted to, but because he was proving a point. What he _wanted_ was to fuck into Stiles’ throat until his son was choking on it, spit running out from between those full lips as he struggled to take everything Noah was giving him. And he _would._ He was just going to tease Stiles first, because his son clearly needed a lesson in patience. So he kept his thrusts shallow, pushing only the first two inches of his cock in and out of Stiles’ mouth in a steady rhythm.

And Stiles behaved himself, sucking on the head of Noah’s cock and swiping his tongue over it again and again but making no move to take more than what he was being given.

“Good boy.” Noah praised him after a minute or two; he wasn’t really focusing well enough to keep track of time properly. He honestly wasn’t sure how he still had the brain power for words, but he was gritting them out, rough and heated. “Such a _good boy,_ Stiles. Do you want more, baby boy? Want more of my cock?”

Stiles whined around it, sucking a little harder, and Noah took that as a yes. He pushed forward with his hips, and part of him had planned to go slowly - had planned to _ease_ his way into Stiles’ throat - but somehow it didn’t work out that way. Instead, Noah found himself steadily feeding his cock into that hot, wet mouth until Stiles’ throat was spasming around the head of it. He drank in the sounds of Stiles choking for a moment, then drew back just enough to let Stiles suck in a shaky breath around the cock still filling his mouth. He pushed forward again almost immediately, savoring that desperate clutch of muscle as it struggled against the intrusion and loving the way Stiles thrashed beneath him, hands clutching the blankets as he choked again.

“That’s it...” He crooned soothingly as he reached down to catch a tear spilling over from Stiles’ watering eyes, drawing back and thrusting in again. “You can do it, baby boy. Swallow me down.”

And Stiles _obeyed._

As Noah fucked into his throat again, Stiles _swallowed._ It minimized the choking - helped his throat accept the intrusion easier - and provided a delightful sensation for Noah, who groaned and thrust again, more quickly this time. Stiles repeated the action and Noah swore softly, silently thanking whatever higher power had blessed him with a son who was such a quick study. And as much as he wanted to keep enjoying this particular delight, Noah pulled back completely only a moment later, because he fully planned to come with his cock buried in Stiles’ ass and he no longer had the refractory period of a teenager so coming down Stiles’ throat wasn’t a viable option. Not at the moment, anyway.

Stiles was staring up at him, wide eyes damp and hazy and a little bit glassy. His mouth was slack, spit making the skin around it all shiny and wet, and he made a soft sound of protest as Noah’s cock was moved out of reach, though he made no move to follow it.

“Shhh...” Noah soothed, using gentle touches to coax Stiles to move, so he was lying fully on the mattress once more. “You did so good, baby boy. But you want my cock inside you, don’t you?”

Stiles whined again, but nodded, his mouth still open as he panted heavily. Noah noticed that his son’s eyes were unfocused - not really looking at anything - and touched Stiles’ cheek, asking. “Color?”

Those amber-and-gilt eyes blinked once...twice...a third time...then focused on Noah’s face, albeit a little bit vacantly. “Mmmm...” Stiles hummed, tongue dragging slowly over his lower lip before his mouth twitched up into a small smirk and he murmured. “Green, Daddy.”

Noah exhaled slowly, but nodded. “Okay, baby boy. That’s good.” He leaned in to kiss that soft, slack mouth, relieved when Stiles seemed to rouse enough to kiss him back. It was inexperienced, and a little sloppy, but he was definitely _trying,_ and combined with his verbal answer it assured Noah that his son was coherent enough for his consent to be viable.

When he drew back, Noah opened his nightstand drawer and retrieved the lube he kept there, insanely grateful that Stiles wasn’t too far gone to answer with his color despite having slipped into subspace. And wasn’t that a wonder, that Stiles had managed it so easily, though Noah knew it meant he’d have to take extra care with more intense play, to ensure Stiles was never too far gone to be able to say _stop_ if he had to. But that...that was a worry for another day. He had other things to concern himself with first.

He finally joined Stiles on the bed and now...now he had to make a choice. Because he wanted to see Stiles’ pretty face while he fucked him, but Noah knew it would be easier for Stiles - at least this first time - if he was on his hands and knees. In the end, Noah allowed himself a compromise. He silently positioned Stiles on his hands and knees, so he was facing the closet...which had a full-length mirror on the door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now.

_‘Besides,’_ Noah reminded himself, _‘there’s always next time.’_

And if he felt the smallest twinge of guilt over the fact that he was already thinking about a _next time,_ then it was quickly shoved away and of little consequence in the greater scheme of things.

Noah opened the lube, slicking his fingers and then leaning down to press a kiss to the small of Stiles’ back as he rested the tip of one finger lightly against Stiles’ entrance. Stiles was good; remembered Noah’s admonishments about being _greedy_ and held perfectly still and Noah was immensely pleased. So he didn’t tease Stiles _too_ much. Noah circled his hole lightly, just for a moment or two, before pressing inward. He wasn’t surprised at all when Stiles’ body accepted the intrusion without protest or qualm. He remembered the kink map and had no doubt that Stiles had been opening himself up _regularly,_ for some time now. It was annoying because Noah would have liked to be the one to introduce Stiles to this...but it also meant he could take a bit less care, so he couldn't really be upset.

He went from one finger to two faster than he would have if he wasn’t so certain Stiles could take it. The way Stiles moaned and arched his back and canted back into the touch told Noah he was right. He pressed a third finger in alongside the first two, watching in delight as Stiles dropped down onto his forearms, presenting his ass to Noah and begging for more around a litany of gasps and moans. Noah debated for a moment about teasing Stiles, but the truth was he didn’t want to. Not this time. Right now, all he wanted was to give Stiles exactly what he’d asked for; to show his son how completely he could - _would_ \- satisfy him, from here on out.

So he pulled his fingers out and got himself lined up, the head of his cock pressed directly to Stiles’ soft, slick hole. “Color?” He rasped, though Noah had no idea how he would find the strength to stop if Stiles answered with anything other than _green._

Thankfully, it wasn’t an issue.

“Green.” Stiles panted, turning to look at Noah over his shoulder. With his flushed face, wide pupils, and glassy-eyed appearance, Stiles looked like he was drunk or high, and Noah felt a fierce surge of possessiveness at having been the one who caused that look.

He pushed forward, past the first tight ring of muscle guarding his son’s virginal ass, then paused with only the first couple of inches inside of Stiles. As easily as Stiles had opened for his fingers - and, now, for his cock - the teenager was tight around him. Hot and slick, the muscles fluttered around the tip of his erection, an accidental caress as Stiles’ body adjusted to the newness of being stretched; filled; _taken._ He clenched his hands on Stiles’ slim hips, gritting his teeth as he resisted the urge to just start thrusting, because he refused to hurt Stiles.

So he took a steadying breath and focused for a moment on his son; on how Stiles was holding up. And _fuck,_ but Stiles was...perfect. Because he’d turned his face into the crook of one elbow and was panting there, keening softly every couple of breaths as he adjusted. His hands were pulling at Noah’s sheets, fisting and relaxing and clenching again, gathering the fabric into his palms and then releasing it over and over again. It was a restless sort of tic; a way to try to ground himself. His spine was a delightful curve as it arched to allow Noah complete access to his ass, but there was something in the lines of Stiles’ body that told him every muscle was locked tight to prevent movement.

And sure enough, as he watched, Stiles let out a sound that could only be called a _sob,_ his hips twitching back the barest _fraction_ of an inch before Stiles managed to still them. _“Plee-ee-ease...” _Stiles keened around a hitching breath. “Daddy, p-please, I _can’t...”_

Another minute twitch of Stiles’ hips - _closer,_ not away - told Noah all he needed to know. Rather than answer with words, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in one swift movement. Stiles cried out, hands clawing at the sheets now even as he pressed his ass back to meet the force of Noah’s thrust; eagerly accepting everything his father was giving him. Because Stiles had been so good, holding still and _asking_ for what he wanted - what he _needed_ \- rather than trying to take it for himself, and that deserved to be rewarded. So Noah gave him what they _both_ wanted and started up a punishing rhythm, driving into Stiles over and over and over.

Stiles took it the same way he’d taken everything Noah had given him. _Perfectly._ He keened, and wailed, and clawed at the bedding so forcefully the sheet tore itself free of the mattress. He pressed back into every thrust, and mewled _so sweetly_ when Noah’s cock found his prostate, and begged for more with what little breath he had left in his lungs. He writhed on Noah’s cock, desperate and sobbing, and Noah had never experienced anything even half as perfect as this; as _Stiles._

Noah knew he should be kind enough to grant Stiles an easy release. Knew he should slide a hand under Stiles’ body and stroke him the handful of times it would take to get him off, or give Stiles permission to do it himself. But he didn’t, because he was a little selfish and a little greedy and he needed this to go down exactly how he’d always imagined it.

So instead, he fisted one hand in Stiles’ hair and dragged his son’s head up, meeting those tawny eyes in the mirror. He leaned in to put his mouth by Stiles’ ear, still thrusting almost viciously, and whispered heatedly. “You gonna come on Daddy’s cock, Stiles? Gonna make a mess of my bed, baby boy? Gonna spill all over my sheets, without even being touched, like the greedy little cockslut you are?”

Stiles made choked little sounds with each question - agreements, Noah thought - and keened and spread his legs a little wider apart, so Noah’s cock slid _deeper._ And Noah wasn’t even surprised - gratified, maybe...awed, definitely...but not _surprised_ \- when Stiles’ whole body locked up and he _screamed,_ loud enough that Noah wondered if the neighbors would call in a complaint. And Noah knew, without even checking, that the sheets under Stiles’ body were sticky-wet; had watched ecstasy paint itself across Stiles’ face in the mirror as he came. And then Stiles went limp, completely and totally, just _melting_ down to the mattress, right into the mess he’d just made.

And the only thing that wasn’t utterly pliant and relaxed were the fluttering internal muscles still rippling around Noah’s cock in delightful little aftershocks as Noah _kept fucking him._ And with each driving thrust, Stiles made a soft little sound. Like each push of his father's cock was forcing out a burst of air and causing the involuntary noises. Noah doubted he was even aware of making them.

It didn’t take much longer for Noah to come as well, burying himself to the hilt and spilling every bit of his release as deep inside Stiles’ ass as he could get it.

And as much as he wanted to, Noah didn’t collapse down on top of Stiles. Instead, he carefully pulled out, wincing a little when Stiles made a pained sound in the back of the throat. “Shhh...” He crooned, stroking one hand soothingly down Stiles’ flank before standing. “You’re alright, baby boy. I’m just going to get something to clean you up with.”

“N-no...” Stiles whined, turning his head enough to give Noah a pleading look, desperation shining brightly in his tawny eyes. “Daddy, p-please...”

Noah hesitated, then stroked his hand over Stiles’ back, asking. “What, baby boy? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t.” Stiles rasped, and there were tears brimming up now; Noah was instantly alarmed. Before he could ask another question, Stiles continued brokenly. “D-don’t clean it off, please...I n-need to...to _feel_ y-you, and...p-please, _please,_ Daddy...”

“Shhh, shhh...” Noah was back on the bed in an instant, hauling Stiles into his lap, heedless of the cooling release growing tacky on Stiles’ skin. “Okay. It’s okay, baby boy. I can leave it for now.” Stiles tucked his head under Noah’s chin, hiccoughing softly every few breaths.

And because he wanted to soothe Stiles, Noah added. “I certainly don’t mind leaving my come inside you, baby boy.” He really, _really_ didn’t, and more words were spilling out before he could properly consider if he should be saying them. “If you like it so much - if you _need it_ this much - then I’ll buy you a plug and you can keep my come inside you for as long as you want, every time. How does that sound, baby boy? Do you want to keep my come inside you for _hours_ after I fuck you?”

Stiles nodded against his throat, affirmation spilling from his lips a moment after. “Yes, Daddy. I want that. Want you to plug me up, all full of your come. Want to be slick and open and ready for your cock _all the time. _I want _everything,_ Daddy.”

Noah groaned, but pressed a kiss to Stiles’ hair. “Okay. Okay, baby boy. I’ll buy you one.” Stiles made a pleased little sound and Noah kissed his son’s hair again.

After several minutes of just holding Stiles - soothingly petting over his son’s back and flank and feeling it as the teen relaxed more and more until he was very nearly asleep - Noah tipped sideways so they were both lying down. Noah shifted them around until he was spooning his son, then murmured against soft hair. “I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles hummed, mumbling back around a yawn. “Love you too, Dad.”

And something about it - about the fact that Stiles had said _Dad_ rather than _Daddy_ \- was like a sucker punch to the gut. Because it drove home the fact that the body in his arms - the body he had just _thoroughly fucked_ \- belonged to _his son._ Not some random twink calling him _Daddy_ as a kinky way to get off, or as a substitute for what they _really_ wanted. This was _Stiles._ Stiles, who Noah had sired and raised and loved for his _whole life._ Stiles, who was made from Noah himself and from Claudia, who was the only person he’d ever loved even _half_ as much as he loved Stiles.

But the thing was, it wasn’t an unpleasant thing to be reminded of. It didn’t send him spiraling into paroxysms of guilt or shame or regret. Because Stiles was _his,_ in a whole host of ways, and Noah couldn't bring himself to wish that wasn’t the case. It meant too much for him to wish it away. It hit him hard, but in all of the best ways possible.

So Noah closed his eyes, and pulled Stiles in as close as he could, and let himself enjoy the moment. Stiles was sleeping, deep and peaceful, for the first time in _months._ And Noah had a feeling that there would be no screaming himself awake this time. Not while Noah was holding him; not while he was there to keep the monsters plaguing his son’s sleep at bay. It was a long time before Noah drifted off to sleep as well, but the soft, rhythmic sound of Stiles’ breathing was a soothing lullaby he couldn't resist forever.

~*~*~*~

Noah circled Stiles. Slowly. Deliberately. Assessing. Analyzing. _Judging._ And Stiles...well, the boy didn’t disappoint. But then, he never did.

Stiles had been kneeling for three hours, and he hadn't once broken pose. He was sitting on his heels, hands clasped loosely behind him. His head was tipped to the perfect angle by the black leather posture collar encircling his throat, though his lashes were lowered over his downcast eyes. There was no insolence in Stiles; not when he was like this. Not when he was being Noah’s _baby boy,_ as opposed to his snarky, somewhat-rebellious teenage son. There was no snark _now._ Though there really _couldn't be,_ when one factored in the gag in Stiles’ mouth. A special O-ring gag called a spider gag, with gleaming silver prongs that made the piece look delightfully impressive without actually adding any sort of discomfort to the device strapped around his son’s head. Those full red lips were stretched wide around it, metal and plastic shining wetly. There was saliva gleaming on Stiles’ chin as well, and down his throat, but he didn’t complain or try to wipe it away. It was like he didn’t even _notice._

Noah ran a hand through his son’s soft hair, then murmured. “Stiles...look at me.”

Those long lashes fluttered, then dazed golden eyes met Noah’s blue. Stiles’ eyes had that vacant, far-away, glassy look they always got during a scene. The one that let Noah know that Stiles was out of his head and out of his _skin_ and just...floating. Stiles had admitted it was his favorite part of the whole thing, and was what had made him take an interest in subbing in the first place. It was what let Stiles sleep through the night, and they’d found that he focused better in class the day or two immediately after an intense scene. The higher Noah took Stiles during a scene - the further into subspace Stiles went - the longer the positive after-effects seemed to last. So Noah was careful - provided aftercare that went on for _hours,_ to help minimize the chances of sub-drop - but he never hesitated to push Stiles just as far as he could. Because this wasn’t just what Stiles _wanted._

It was what his son _needed._

Something to help ground him. Something to help chase away the demons that had been ripping Stiles apart from the inside for far too long. Noah knew all about demons, but Stiles’ had been a much more literal variety and they’d been _fierce._ If this was what it took to keep his son from falling off the deep end into an abyss he couldn't come back from, then Noah was fine with it. He’d damn himself a thousand times over if it meant sparing Stiles even a drop of the suffering he’d been going through. Noah knew he would happily burn in hell for eternity if it would keep Stiles safe and well.

Still, this scene had been going on long enough. And anyway, Noah had a present for his son and he wanted to give it to him before they ate dinner, which meant taking Stiles out of the pose he’d been holding _so beautifully_ since getting home from school. So he petted Stiles’ hair again and said. “I’m going to take these off now. Then you can move to the couch and sit down for me. Understand?”

Stiles nodded meekly, tipping his head down when Noah circled behind him and began undoing the clasp for the gag.

Part of Noah wished he could take Stiles out like this. Show him off to strangers; to the world. Let everyone see just how _perfect_ his baby boy was. But they lived in a small town, and both he and Stiles were well-known. He couldn't just waltz into the nearest BDSM club - or a local play-party or munch - with his son in tow. Not unless he wanted to go to prison, anyway. And sure, they could drive a few hours and go to one in the city, but...

But Noah also wanted to keep _this_ Stiles all to himself. Because Stiles was beautiful, and obedient, and willing to try anything and everything Noah asked of him. Sometimes he blushed, or stammered, or hesitated for _just_ a moment. But, in the end, he always gave in. He always gave Noah everything he’d asked for and then some. He held nothing back. Stiles was unrestrained, and wild, and insatiably greedy about pleasure. He was the perfect combination of everything Noah had ever wanted. So as much as he sometimes wanted the whole world to know that Stiles was _his,_ mostly Noah just wanted to keep this between them. Entirely.

And yet...

His fingers undid the posture collar next and he carefully set it aside with the spider gag. He watched as Stiles crawled over to the sofa, admiring the sleek muscles rippling under pale skin with every motion of his son’s lithe body. He knew that Stiles wasn’t crawling to try to be enticing, and Noah hadn't ordered him to cross the room that way. But he’d been kneeling for _three hours_ and Noah knew as well as Stiles did that if he tried to stand, he’d hit the floor in a couple of steps, _at the most._

Better to crawl and sacrifice that small bit of dignity than try to walk and lose it all.

Not that Stiles had much dignity left, where Noah was concerned, but still. It was, undoubtedly, the principal of the thing. And Noah appreciated the view; the way Stiles’ sleekly muscled form moved when he crawled like that. The tantalizing flash of the jewel set into the base of the plug Stiles’ wore pretty much _all the time_ was an added bonus. Noah reminded his cock that now was _not the time,_ thank you very much. He had other plans. Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t be fucking Stiles, because he absolutely _would,_ he just...had to do something else first.

He crossed the room to retrieve a box from the top of a bookshelf, then joined Stiles on the sofa. He set the box on Stiles’ thighs and waited, saying nothing.

Stiles let his fingers ghost lightly over the plain brown paper wrapped around the box, then dropped his hands to his sides and fisted them against the couch cushion, asking softly. “What is this, Daddy?”

Noah’s lips curved up into a pleased smile. He brushed his knuckles over Stiles’ cheek and said. “It’s a birthday present for you, baby boy.”

Stiles blinked, then looked back down at the wrapped box. “My birthday isn’t until next week.”

“True.” Noah agreed. “But I want to celebrate it this weekend, since you’re going to have school on your birthday. And I’d let you stay home but I know your friends will want to see you, and you missed a lot of school at the beginning of the year. So I thought this would be better.”

Stiles twitched a little, like he was resisting movement, and Noah gave his son the permission he knew he was waiting for. “Go ahead, Stiles. You can open it.”

Stiles fingers tore through the paper, never one to take care when unwrapping things. It was why Noah and Claudia had stopped bothering with _pretty_ paper by the time Stiles was five. It all wound up as so much shredded confetti, so it seemed silly to worry about patterns and colors. Brown paper worked just fine, and then Stiles never looked guilty over having ripped it to little bits. So it wasn’t more than a few seconds later that Stiles was lifting the lid off the square box, revealing its contents.

He sucked in a stunned breath, then reached out to touch the piece of jewelry reverently. It was simple, but that was what Noah had wanted. _Discretion,_ always. A thin strip of black leather on either side of a small silver O-ring that would rest just above the hollow of Stiles’ throat when he wore it. It was a collar, but not like the posture one Noah had gotten him when they’d started this. No, this was an _every day_ sort of collar. Something that would simply look like a quirky bit of jewelry to anyone not in the know, but which was a silent claim regardless. Something Stiles could wear all of the time - even to school - to remind him who he belonged to.

“R-really?” Stiles breathed, turning wide, hopeful eyes on Noah.

Because Stiles had wanted to be collared right away, but Noah had refused. The posture collar was a learning tool, so that was different. Collaring to _claim_ was something special, and not something to be done lightly. So Noah had waited, to be sure that Stiles knew what he was getting into. To ensure that Stiles wasn’t going to change his mind. To protect them both, if things went badly.

But now, it had been nearly three months since they’d started this and Stiles was turning seventeen in less than a week and Noah...Noah was tired of waiting. It was clear that this was what they both wanted, and putting it off seemed silly and pointless. So he’d chosen with care, keeping both Stiles’ preferences and his own in mind, and now it was time.

_Finally._

“Yes, baby boy.” Noah promised, smiling at his son. “Do you like it?”

Stiles nodded vigorously, holding the box out to Noah. “C-can you put it on me?”

The slight stutter let Noah know just how excited Stiles was and he smiled wider as he lifted the collar out of the box and undid the clasp. Stiles turned so he was facing away from his dad and Noah carefully looped the leather-and-metal around his neck. He fastened the collar again, making sure it rested snugly against Stiles’ slim throat; positioning it _just so._ When Stiles turned back to him, he groaned; the sight of it encircling that slender column of pale, mole-dotted flesh was beyond perfect. 

“Beautiful.” He murmured, almost without meaning to, though he certainly didn’t regret saying it. It was true, after all, and he had no qualms about praising his boy.

Stiles’ cheeks flooded with color and he ducked his head, grinning broadly. Then he peeked up at Noah from under his eyelashes and whispered. “Thank you, Daddy. Can I...”

He hesitated for a moment, then slid off the couch, kneeling on the floor by Noah’s feet and leaning in to rest his palms lightly on Noah’s thighs before asking breathily. “Can I thank you _properly,_ Daddy? I want to show you how happy this makes me...how much I _love_ you...”

Noah swallowed hard, cupping Stiles’ face with one hand and stroking over the sharp line of Stiles’ cheekbone with his thumb before answering. “After dinner, baby boy.” Because dinner was almost done and he wasn’t going to risk it burning because they got distracted, but he _definitely_ wanted Stiles’ sweet mouth on his cock. “Can you be patient?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Stiles murmured, perfect as always.

Noah wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve Stiles - was almost positive the answer was _nothing,_ and that was a large part of why he was damned - but he was grateful beyond measure that he had chosen to accept what Stiles had offered him three months earlier. Because he wasn’t evil, but he also wasn’t a _good person, _obviously. Noah knew he would never see Heaven, but he also had no doubt that this - with Stiles - was a more than fair exchange for eternal damnation.

He regretted _nothing._

~*~*~*~

Stiles knew it was stupid. Somehow, that wasn’t much of a deterrent.

Wearing the collar to school was dangerous in its own way, because there was always the chance that one of his fellow classmates would know what it was. Of course, they couldn't make Stiles tell them who had placed it around his throat, and he didn’t exactly mind the idea of everyone knowing he belonged to _someone,_ even if he couldn't say _who._ So it was dangerous, but not overly so. Because Kira was still learning to use her powers and she wasn’t going to pick up on anything. Isaac mostly did his best to ignore Stiles whenever possible, which included a profound lack of interest in Stiles’ personal life. And Malia wasn’t interested enough in interpersonal relationships - anyone’s, not just Stiles’ - to bother sniffing out things he didn’t want her to know about.

Scott...well, Scott had mentioned _months ago_ that he was glad Stiles was spending more time with his dad. That he was glad Stiles had managed to repair that rift. Because Stiles smelled a lot more like his dad than he had been, and obviously that meant they’d gotten past all of the lies caused by Stiles unexpected immersion in the supernatural underbelly of Beacon Hills. And Stiles had just smiled and said that yeah, they were doing better, and wasn’t that great? It had taken another week for Scott to ask if Stiles was _seeing someone,_ and Stiles had admitted that he was but that he wasn’t going to share who, because he was still underage and the other person _wasn’t_. Scott had accepted that as well, and never realized the two things were connected.

Though, to be fair, it would’ve been a bit like expecting Scott to put two-and-two together and come up with _fish._

And yeah, Stiles got a couple of looks for the collar, but - overall - it was fine. Unnoticed, and unassuming, and yet a constant and reassuring presence around his neck. Affirmation that he was wanted, and loved, and that someone had claimed him.

Wearing the collar to an impromptu _pack thing_ was...risky. Stupid. Wildly inappropriate. But then, Stiles had a tendency to do things that fit those categories with some level of regularity, so it really shouldn’t have surprised anyone.

Lydia had eyed the piece of jewelry the second Stiles had walked into the loft, but then, she’d been doing the same thing at school. Like she was calculating how often he had it on, and factoring that into its potential meaning. Stiles left her to it. Lydia might come to some weird conclusions - might even get _close_ to the truth - but he doubted she’d figure it out completely. And if she did...well, Stiles had a feeling her pragmatic nature would have her simply shrugging and moving on. Stiles wasn’t being hurt. He was, in fact, doing _better._

He’d put on nearly twenty pounds of sorely needed weight, most of it in muscle. He slept through the night, _every night,_ and no longer had circles so dark under his eyes that he looked on the edge of death. His grades had improved again, as had his mood. Lydia would never turn up her nose at results simply because the method of achieving them was..._unorthodox._ Or illegal. It was one of the things Stiles liked best about her.

Stiles flung himself into a recliner, one leg thrown up over an arm and sort of lounging half-sideways across it. He barely noticed the way his plug shifted inside him; it was his small, daily-wear one after all and he was incredibly used to it. He didn’t normally wear _that_ to pack-things either, but it had happened on occasion when the pack got together unexpectedly and no one had ever noticed, so Stiles wasn’t worried in the slightest. He gave a restless little twitch of his hips to resettle the thing properly, then promptly went back to ignoring it in favor of teasing Isaac about his current scarf.

Three hours - and most of a movie - later, Stiles was in the kitchen, getting a drink and humming softly to himself. He could hear the sounds of the movie from the other room. Could hear the laughter and chatter of the pack over it, because heaven forbid they just sat and quietly watched. Not that Stiles was complaining, because he had always had a bad habit of talking his way through movies and tv shows, but with this group it didn’t seem to matter. So their tendency to giggle and throw snacks at each other and only half pay attention was actually something that worked in his favor.

He was blaming it, however, for the fact that he didn’t notice someone else entering the kitchen.

His spine went rigid as a hard, toned body pressed against him from behind. The line of heat and preternatural strength all along the back of him as he was shoved into the counter felt threatening and made Stiles want to _scream_ for the werewolf to _back the fuck off._ But a nose was nudging the spot behind his ear, just above his collar, and an amused voice rumbled against his skin.

“Aren’t you a naughty boy, Stiles?” There was wickedness to the tone, and laughter that was edged with cruelty, and _knowing._ It chilled Stiles to his core and kept him from yelling for the rest of the pack to come and rescue him. “I know our _esteemed alpha_ doesn’t notice, and I’m certain your little classmates can’t tell either, but _I_ can. I can always tell when you’ve got something tucked up inside you.”

“B-back off, you fucking creeper.” Stiles snarled, as best he could when it felt like his heart was going to jackrabbit out of his damned chest. Fear was blanketing him like ice and he wasn’t sure what to say; how to fix this. “Mind your fucking business.”

Peter growled softly, right beside his ear, but eased back _just far enough_ so that Stiles could turn around and glare at him. Peter’s grin was smug and his eyes glittered dangerously. “You have no idea how _lush_ you smell right now, do you? How _ripe_ your scent gets when you’re wearing...what is it? A plug? A small one, I’d imagine, as you’re not walking much differently.”

Stiles opened his mouth to deliver a scathing, snarky shut down, but the words died on his tongue as Peter casually added. “A pity your father can’t appreciate the scent, though I’d imagine seeing you in that collar amounts to much the same thing. For him, at least.”

Stiles eyes flicked anxiously to the doorway behind Peter and the beta huffed out a laugh. “Relax. I wouldn’t have said anything if any of them were listening.”

“Why say anything in the first place?” Stiles ground out, jaw aching as he clenched his teeth to keep from just _shouting_ at Peter. “What do you get out of this? Other than the fact that you’ve got something to hold over me, I mean.”

Peter tsked softly, his face softening a little into something genuinely fond. “Oh, Stiles. You’ve always been my favorite of the ragtag little batch of misfits Derek collected. My only goal is to help you, because my dear nephew has been getting..._suspicious._ You say you’re with someone - and now you have that _delightful_ collar - but there’s no new scent on you. Nothing unusual. It’s only a matter of time until the others notice as well...or until Derek says something.”

Stiles swallowed hard, trembling a little. “I can’t do anything about that.” He wished his voice wasn’t so small; so _weak._ All he could think about was losing his dad; was the world not understanding how much he _needed_ Noah, and separating them. “I can’t fake smelling like someone else.”

“No, but you can misdirect.” Peter murmured.

And suddenly he was pressed against Stiles again, this time all along his front. His nose nuzzled along the edge of the collar. He rumbled loudly, the sound halfway between a growl and a purr. Stiles’ breath caught in his chest and he went stock-still, unsure what the hell was happening or _why._ A second later, he heard a choked noise from the doorway and his head whipped around. He stared, wide-eyed, into stunned eyes that were glowing blue.

“D-derek!” Stiles gasped, clutching at the counter behind himself with trembling hands as Peter eased back from him a second time. “I...i-it’s not...we were j-just...”

“Hush, darling boy.” Peter said, voice low and firm, and Stiles’ mouth snapped shut on instinct alone because the tone was _so similar_ to how his dad issued orders. Then Peter was raising an eyebrow at Derek and asking. “Can I help you, nephew?”

“He’s a _kid.”_ Derek snapped, eyes still glowing and claws now tipping his fingertips. “Jesus, Peter, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Peter shrugged, then glanced at Stiles and asked softly. “Have I harmed him, then? Does he look unwell, or unhappy?” Derek’s eyes faded to their normal color as he looked uncertainly at Stiles. Peter continued in that same soft tone. “Or does he look healthy, Derek? He’s put on weight. He’s sleeping better. His anxiety levels have gone down.”

Derek looked between them again, eyes flicking back and forth several times before finally landing on Stiles as he asked. “Are you okay?” Stiles nodded and Derek pushed. “I mean, are you _really_ okay? He isn’t forcing you, or hurting you, or...?”

“I’m fine, Sourwolf.” Stiles assured him, and his heartbeat was still a little fast but it was also steady. “I promise that _no one_ is forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do.” He managed a small smile for the younger Hale and added. “I don’t know if it’ll help you feel better or not, but like...my dad knows. About what I’m doing, and with who. So. I promise, everything’s good.”

Derek nodded, slowly. He still seemed a little uneasy, but he didn’t look like he was planning to interfere, so that was a plus. “Right. I’m just...going to go watch the movie.”

Derek fled the kitchen and Stiles slumped back against the counter, scrubbing tiredly at his face. After a long moment of silence, he glanced over at Peter and mumbled. “Thanks.”

Peter’s lips quirked up into another amused smirk, but his eyes were soft and understanding. He shrugged and said. “I understand that, sometimes, what we need is not something we’re supposed to have. But that doesn’t mean we need it any less. It doesn’t negate the good that having it does. And you really are my favorite, Stiles. I don’t mind helping with this.”

Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, then asked. “What about...you know, if the rest of the pack wants to know why we don’t...why we _aren’t...”_

“I am not a fan of PDA, Stiles.” Peter’s voice was cool now, but the sparkle in his eyes let Stiles know it was an act. “I’m intensely private and I don’t bandy my personal life about. It’s not up for discussion, or consumption.”

“Not bad.” Stiles admitted, laughing a little as his shoulders relaxed. Then he added softly. “I’ll have to fill my dad in. On what we’re doing, and why. He, uh...he might want to meet you. To talk about it.”

“That’s fine.” Peter stepped in close again, brushing his lips lightly over Stiles’ forehead. “Tell him I’m happy to meet to discuss things whenever it’s convenient for him.”

He stepped back, adding. “We should return to finish the movie, before the others start asking questions that neither of us particularly wants to answer.”

Stiles nodded, then followed Peter back out into Derek’s living room. He probably should have been more upset, at Peter figuring things out. At the idea of having to lie to the pack; making them think that _Peter_ was his dom, because they could never know who it _was._ But the truth was, Stiles was relieved. Because Peter would act as a shield. A barrier, between Stiles and his dad...and the rest of the world. If Stiles could present a person they would _assume_ was his partner, then no one would look any closer. Peter’s offer was safety, in a way nothing else could be.

Brushing his fingers lightly over his collar as he sat back down, Stiles couldn't keep the pleased smile off his face.

_Everything was going to be just fine._

_ **~ The End ~** _

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank-you goes out to the four lovely ladies who pre-read this for me and got me through the interminable bathtub scene, which didn't want to be written for some unknown reason. I couldn't have done it without ya'll, and you know I love you to itty bitty pieces! ❤️
> 
> To Scarlet, whom this is gifted to: I hope very much that you continue to love my works as much as you have so far, and I'm so pleased I was able to write you something. 💝
> 
> Again, comments are love and I read every single one. They absolutely make my day and encourage me to keep writing, so pretty please leave me some!
> 
> ~ Sly


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